Page 23 of Salto

He tilted his head slightly.

“Today your body forgot the plan.”

I swallowed, and my fingers instinctively went to the end of my ponytail.

His intense gaze made me feel the overwhelming urge to fidget, and I struggled to look directly at him yet again.

“You release in your Jaegers like you aren’t afraid of the catch,” he continued. “Your double pike is flawless.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying not to let his words sink in.

They were dangerous.

“The combination you did on the beam was as easy as breathing for you. And you did that Shaposhnikova like you’d done it a thousand times.”

“I was just having a good day,” I whispered.

“You’re hungry.”

I stilled, my eyes opening again and meeting his.

Hunger made it sound like there was still something more my body needed. That I was starving for more. But this was enough. I shouldn't be hungry. In fact, I should be perfectly satisfied.

So why wasn't I?

“I can’t be reckless,” I said quickly.

“I’m not asking you to be reckless,” he said, his tone gentler now.“I’m asking if you want my help.”

“I don’t need help.” The words came out more defensive than I meant them to.

“The way you brace and shy away from pain would say otherwise.”

I shook my head. “What exactly are you offering?”

“Let me teach you.”

My defensiveness vanished, replaced by stunned disbelief.

“Let me help you learn how to work through the pain. There are techniques, physical therapy. You could start doing higher-level skills again. You could test elite.”

There was an unmistakable eagerness in his voice, like the possibility excited him.

He was really saying he would train me. Teach me to work through my pain and help me try for the Olympics again.

But I wasn't just dealing with my health anymore. I'd be almost twenty-three by the next Olympics—an age when most gymnasts were already retiring or long past their peak.

“You’re insane,” I whispered. It was too good to be true. And it would honestly be a little cruel to dangle something like this in front of my face if he didn’t actually mean it.

“Here’s the offer,” he said, ignoring my comment. “You come to the Vanta tryouts,” he said. “See if you can make it past the selection process onto the team. If you do, then we’ll talk about how to move forward and help you work through the pain.”

“So I'll have to go to these tryouts and impress Nikolai Vanta?” A dry, humorless laugh escaped me. “And what if I don’t impress him?”

“He was my coach. So I know what he’ll be looking for. And trust me. You have what it takes.”

He was so certain of himself. Then again, I supposed that confidence made sense when you had a few Olympic gold medals hanging somewhere in your house.

I shook my head, still feeling like laughing because it was almost impossible to believe he was actually suggesting this. I'd already given up on this dream. I had no idea what would happen if I woke it up again.